An Account of the Curious Adventures of Elizabeth Arthur Kirkland
by IMironicANDyoureNOT
Summary: Elizabeth Kirkland is an orphan on the streets of 18th century London who dreams of sailing away on a ship. When she finally gets the chance to do just that, she has to hide her identity as a female and don the name "Arthur". What she finds may be more than she'd bargained for. A fem!England story with eventual UsUk.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I own ABSOLUTELY nothing in this story. Not even the words. Seriously. **

**Prologue**

My name is Arthur Kirkland and in London I was born, but, no, I wasn't born with that name. Well, the Kirkland part, yes, the Arthur part, no, but they call me Arthur now and it's fine with me. They also call me Artie, Art, and aye, it's true I've been called the Bloody Arthur a few times, but that wasn't all my fault. Mostly though, they just call me Arthur.

That wasn't my name, though, back on That Dark Day when my poor dad died of the pestilence and the men dragged him out of our rooms and down the stairs, his poor head hanging between his shoulders and his poor feet bouncin' on the stairs, and me all sobbin' and blubberin' and Mum no help, she bein' sick, too, and my little sister, as well.

Back then my name was Elizabeth.

**London 1797**

"We'll be back for the rest of the lot in a few days," allows one of the men, and he's right 'cause me mum and me sister both goes off the next day and the men come back and takes me mum and puts her in the cart, her legs all danglin' over the side and not covered up proper, but it's Muck that comes and picks up me poor little sister and throws her all limp over his shoulder. I din't know 'im as Muck then, but I do later, and it's Muck what takes me out all bawlin' to the streets and sets me on the curb.

"There, there, Missy, there, there. Old Muck'll see you soon," says he, leavin' me in me tears and grief as he puts Penny in his wheelbarrow and he heads off down the street. "Inside of a week, I suspects."

There's the sound of sweepin' behind me and the door slams shut.

I runs and runs, just out me head with terror, and I keeps on runnin' till I starts heavin' and gaspin' and chokin' and I can't run no more and I falls down in an alley, the cobblestones all hard against me knees and cold against me face. I crawls on me hands and knees up in a dark doorway, and I puts me thumb in me mouth and I sucks on it real hard, with me tears runnin' down me face and on me thumb and in me mouth all salty and dirty, but I don't care, I just wants to die, just die is all. I curls up huggin' me knees to me chest, hopin' I'll go real fast so's to be in Heaven with Dad and Mum and Penny, and I'm prayin' to God, like I been taught, for Jesus to come take me in his lovin' arms and say that I've been a good girl, there, there, but He don't come, no, He don't. What comes is nighttime and a gang of kids what grabs me and strips me of all me clothes.

"Ain't she the fine one, then- she's got drawers, even!" Says the one what pulls me dress off over me head and me underdrawers off over me feet, and who in her mercy throws her filthy old shift at me nakedness and tells me to put it on. Shakin', I does what she says 'cause i don't know what else to do even though it stinks and it's way too big for me and me clothes is way too small for her but she puts 'em on anyways.

"Look at me," says the girl what stole me clothes. "I'm ready for the bleedin' Derby, I am!"

"Let's go," comes a voice from the end of the alley.

"Stoof it, Scottie," says the girl what stole me clothes. "Oi'm not yet done with my _toi-let_."

The others laugh and lark about in the dark and cast wild shadows on the walls about me, and then they heads off down the alley. The girl what stole me clothes looks back at me cowerin' and weepin' in the doorway.

"Well, come on, then. And quit yer snivelin'. It'll do ye no good."

I snuffles and gets up.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Elizabeth = fem!England**

** Scottie = Scotland**

**Chapter 1**

Rooster Scottie allows as how today he's goin' to see Dr. Graves himself, the bloke what sends Muck around to pick up dead orphans for the di-seck-shun and for the good of science and all, to see if Scottie his ownself can get paid for his body _before _he goes croakers so's he can have the pleasure of it himself, like.

Me and the others laugh and jeer and say, "Scottie, you ain't got the bollocks. He'll prolly open you up right there, without so much as a by-your-leave." But Scottie, he hikes up his pants and gives his vest a pat and off he goes to sell his body. The pat is for his shiv, which he keeps tucked next to his ribs.

I've been with Scottie and the gang for four, maybe five, years since That Dark Day when me world was changed forever, but I can't be sure, the seasons run into each other so–we shivers an dies of the cold in the winter and sweats and dies of the pestilence in the summer, so it's all one. It's been close a couple of times, but I ain't dead yet.

We begs mostly, _please Mum please Mum please Mum, _over and over and we steals a bit and we gets by, just. There's only six of us right now 'cause Emily died last winter. I woke up next to her stiff body in the morning in our kip and I took her shift, that givin' me two things I own besides me immortal soul. We tried takin' poor naked dead Emily down to the river and floatin' her off with the proper words and all, but she's stiff and hard to move and Muck caught us at it and stole her away. He gives us a curse for tryin' to get her away and for takin' her shift, too, that which he could have sold to the ragman.

Scottie is the leader of our gang and is called the Rooster 'cause his last name is Brewster, and him being such a cocky little banty, it seems natural, like. He's small, but he's smart and quick. Scottie's hair is straight and red and hangs to one side like a cock's comb. He's got britches that were once white and a once-white shirt and a bright blue vest over that, and he looks right fine, he does. A flash cove is our Rooster Scottie.

Besides him there's Polly and Judy and Nancy, and Hugh the Grand, him what is big and strong like an ox but what is a bit slow in the head. Scottie is fond of pattin' him on his broad back and sayin', 'Our Hughie is our muscle and our tower of strength in this world of strife and trouble,' and every time he does it, Hughie blushes all red and rocks his head side to side and grins his big dumb grin in his gladness. Scottie takes care of us, and with his cheek and his bravado and his shiv and our Hughie, the other gangs keep their distance.

Since I'm the smallest, I get called Little Elizabeth, even though I ain't near to bein' the youngest no more.

The gang is always changin', as we lose some and we brings some in. Like the girl what stole me clothes before, whose name is Betty, what stole herself a while back as two of the women from Missus Tuttle's lit upon our little band to find a replacement for their servant girl who had died. They picked Betty and allowed as they was gonna make a fine lady out of her, _isn't that right, Bessie, just like us. _So they takes our Betty off, and Scottie says that he'll give it two days and then he'd go see her and if she wanted to come back, he'd steal her back, but after the two days he goes to see, and, no, she didn't want t' come back, she wanted to stay and be a fine lady. And I din't get my clothes back, either, even though they prolly would still have fit.

"Whyn't all us girls go off to Missus Tuttle's to be fine ladies," says I, thinkin' maybe there'd be food there and beds and stuff, but then Scottie tells me to shut my silly girly gob, as what do I know about anything in the world. Then he tells us what goes on at Missus Tuttle's, but I don't believe him, not for a minute. Disgustin' it is. "Such a mind you have, Scottie, to be thinkin' of such."

"Elizabeth, bless you, you'll find out soon enough," says Scottie.

Our kip is under the Blackfriar's Bridge, just where the bridge meets the road real sharp so there's a cave under there, like. We got some straw from the stables on the sly, a little bit at a time, so at night we all burrows in and sleeps in a pile for warmth and comfort. When it rains, trickles of water come down through the black stones, but we knows where they'll be comin' now, so we keeps away. Can't keep away the damp from the river, though. I think that's what took Emily off, the damp and cold from the river. In the night the lights from the city lamps bounce off the waves, an on foggy nights horns sound low and mournful back and forth. It's ships makin' their way to someplace else, and I want to be going somewheres else, too.

Other gangs would like to have our kip, but with Hugh the Grand shakin' his big fists and bellowin' and Scottie wavin' his shiv and the rest of us throwin' rocks, we manages to chase them off and keep our home, at least for the time bein'.

At night, when we're all in a pile, we talks and makes up stories about what we're goin' to be if we grows up. Like Scottie says, he'll be a soldier and all and trade his shiv for a great gleamin' sword and fine red uniform and won't all the fine ladies love him and we girls all say we loves him right now but he says that don't count, us bein' worthless drabs and all and he gets jabbed in the ribs for his cheek.

Hughie allows as how he'd like to be a horse handler 'cause horse handlers have to be big and strong, which he is, and he likes horses and even likes the smell of 'em. We all hold our noses and say _phew_, but he don't care, he likes 'em, is all. There's a lot of horses here in Cheapside 'cause of all the markets and fairs.

Judy's of a practical turn of mind. too, as she wants to go into service and be a maid for a fine lady, but first she's got to get big enough to be useful to some such fine lady and not just eat her out of house and home. Polly, she just wants to marry a good man and raise up babies. Nancy says she wants to get married, too, and maybe she and her man would have a tavern where there'd be lots of good things to eat and drink, but they'd keep scum like Muck out, it bein' a respectable place, like.

I say I want to be the captain of a fine ship an sail around the world and see the Cathay Cat and the Bengal Rat and gaze upon the Kangaroo, which is what I heard some sailors singin' about over at Benbow's Tavern one day and it sounded right fine to me, them all happy and singin' and carefree it seemed. I'll get rich and famous and spend all me money takin' care of poor miserable orphans, and I get handfuls of straw thrown at me for my sentiments.

* * *

"'Cut out the middleman!' says I to the worthy doctor. "Pay me now only _half_ what ye'd be payin' Muck for me earthly remains and I promise to come and lie down on yer doorstep every time I feels sick and liable to die. I'd even carry a note to the effect that if I perished somewhere else, my body was to be delivered to the Honorable Doctor without delay!'" says Scottie, having returned from the anatomist's full of gruesome stories of bloody tables and knives and things put up in jars.

"And Muck himself is there ascowlin' at the notion of his bein' cut out of the bargain, but the doctor says no, it was against his ethics to conduct negotiations with a live body, even though he was sure i was possessed of an admirable spleen."

We're all gigglin' and snortin', and Scottie goes on with, "I owns I got a right fine spleen and if Your Honor would pay me now, I'd sure to keep it in special prime condition for his later use and joy. Massage it up twice a week to keep it nice and soft and all." Scottie shakes his head sadly, swinging his red mop.

"His Honor would have none of it, and he has Muck put his foul hands on me to toss me out, spleen and all."

"And for that," says Scottie, "I resolves to abuse me spleen most terrible."

We all gets a howl out of Scottie's prancin' around and telling of the stomachs that are blown up and dried like the blowfish we see in the fish market, and other guts tanned and pickled and preserved. But then he tells of seeing a baby's hand floating in some juice and that shuts up my laughing right quick.

I knows me sister Penny is put up in jars, and I suspects that someday I will be, too.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I'm thinkin' I'm maybe twelve years old now, but it's hard to tell 'cause time slips by out here on the streets. That would be about right, though, figuring I was about eight when I was turned out an orphan into the storm of life, me bein' so happy with mum takin' care of Penny and me, and our dad teachin' us to read, him bein' a teacher what had come to London with Mum, who was a deacon's daughter from a poor church in the north country, to take up a teaching post, but the post fell through and he had to fall back on letter writin' for the people what couldn't do it for themselves. It was enough to get along on till somethin' better come along, but what come along was Death and nothin' better.

Maybe I'm thirteen. I don't know. I'm still so damned small.

Because I was taught to read by my dad, I do the readin' for the gang. It's me special trick, like, different from the beggin' and the thievin' and the runnin' from the coppers and the throwin' of rocks and such which all of us do. Doin' the readin' keeps me sharp in the practice of it, and by soundin' out the words, I keeps pickin' up new ones. I don't always know what the meanin' is, but I usually gets it worked out.

When the printers on Fleet Street puts up the news sheets and broadsides on the walls outside their shops, we all goes over and I climbs up on Hugh the Grand's shoulders and I reads what's put up there. The people what gather about can't read for their ownselves and they likes it when I does it for 'em, and when Polly and Nancy and Judy scampers about with their hands out, well, sometimes the people puts in a penny.

There's wanted posters, too, for bold and darin' highwaymen, and there's news of the brewin' war with Napoléon, who's out kickin' up trouble in the high Germanies, and everyone shakes their heads and says we'll be back in it soon. Scottie 'specially likes the broadsides, which are songs written out making fun of something or somebody or some big thing that happened. He quick learns the words by heart and then goes out on the street and sings 'em, caperin' about, and some people likes it and again we girls pass the cups around and maybe we get a penny or two, and then we can get a meat pie to share, which is a great and rare and wonderful thing.

There's cartoons what are put up, too. Men and women drawn with big fat eggs for bodies and little sticks for arms and legs, and big awful faces with big lips and noses, and words come out of their mouths in bubbles and I read them, too. ''Like, see this cove here is saying the Tory members are nothing but a bunch of baboons, and this here baboon over to the side is saying that he doesn't see the resemblance and his mum is much offended,'' but the words from the baboon is comin' out of his bum instead of out his mouth, and everyone gets a good laugh and Hugh the Grand shakes with the laughin' even tho' I knows he ain't got no notion of what's funny about it, and for me it's like gettin' a ride on a big old dumb horse when Hughie laughs.

I says to Scottie a couple of times, ''Scottie, how come we don't do the readin's all the time, it's a good trick and there's plenty of different print shops and we always gets some pennies when we does it? We could even set up in letter writin' and make even more and not have to do the beggin'. Why not, Scottie?''

But Scottie just shakes his head and says, ''Elizabeth, we got to have a lot of irons in the fire, not just one thing, "cause if that one thing plays out, why, where would we be then?''

I nods me head, but I ain't satisfied with the answer.

''Please Mum, please Mum, please Mum,'' says I, stickin' out me hand. I've been put to the beggin' on this corner today and I'm workin' a lady and a little girl what has just come out of a bakery shop and have bags of sweet smellin' stuff. ''Please Mum, please Mum, please Mum. _Please_."

The girl pipes up with, ''Can't we give her a penny, Mother?" The girl is all dressed in white with ribbons and looks like she's been scrubbed pink. ''She's awfully dirty and she looks cold.''

''No, dear,'' says the mother. ''Your dear uncle John gave you those pennies to buy yourself something special, and I don't want you to waste them.'' _Evil old sow_.

"I'm going to give one to her anyhow,'' says the sainted girl firmly, and she pulls out a purse all covered in bright thread. She reaches in and pulls out a penny and plants it in me outstretched fist, careful not to touch any part of me grimy self. It's all I can do not to snatch the purse and run.

''Bless you, Miss," says I.

The lady grabs the girl's arm and starts on up the street. "You are just throwing your pennies away. I'm sure her father is right around the corner waiting to take your penny to drink. I'm very displeased with you."

Somethin' happens in me head and I says, ''No, Mum, you've got it all wrong. I ain't got no Dad or no Mum neither and—''

''Come, Dear,'' says the woman, nervouslike. I follows 'em down the street and I knows she's lookin' for a constable but I just can't help it and I clutched the penny in me fist as I runs after 'em and I'm chokin' up and the tears are startin' out of me eyes and runnin' down me chin and I shouts, ''Me mum was just like you, she just died is all, it warn't her fault, she just died like me dad died and me sister died and Emily died and...''

I stops in the middle of the street and throws down the penny. It rings against the cobblestones and I lets out a howl and I hopes that a horse comes by and stomps on me head 'cause I hates the beggin' and I'm scared of the stealin' and I just want Jesus to come and put me out of my misery, but instead it's Scottie what comes and puts his arm around me and says, ''C'mon now, Elizabeth, it's awright, it's awright. Hush now, hush. Ye just got to remember it's 'Please Mum, Please Mum,' over and over. Ye can't get personal, they don't like it. Hush now.''

''But me mum was a lady,'' I blubbers, all snotted up and teary.

Scottie bends down and picks up the penny. ''I know, Elizabeth, I know. I reckon ye just wasn't cut out for the beggin'.''

Scottie buys a meat pie with the penny and sticks it in his vest pocket, and we heads back to our kip, it startin' to get dark and all. We'll divide up the pie when we all gets back in the kip, along with whatever else the others have managed to scrounge up. Scottie's got a good way of dividin' up the stuff we get. He says he learned it from a man who was once in prison, and what Scottie does is he takes his shiv and cuts up whatever's there into pieces as alike in size as he can judge it. Then he turns his back so he can't see the pieces and one of us points at a piece and then Scottie calls out one of our names and that one gets that piece, and so on till it's all shared out and fair.

We're almost there and I'm quieted down now and I asks again, ''Scottie, why don't we just do the readin' thing? We always make money at it. I hates the beggin' so.''

Scottie is quiet for a while and then he says, ''Awright, Elizabeth, I'll be tellin' ye straight. Yer the bright penny, anyways, and ye'll see the wisdom of me thinkin'.''

Scottie stops in the gloom and takes me by the shoulder and turns me around and looks me in me eyes. ''It's 'cause I don't want ye stolen, is why.''

I looks up at him and he puffs up and goes on.

''Now, suppose we stand up in front of the broadsides and newspapers and such every day, and awright, we'll make money, I'll grant ye that; prolly enough to get by on, but...''

And here he stops and looks hard at me again. ''It won't go without notice, don't ye see?'' And he shakes me shoulder.

''Some bigger and meaner gang will see that yer little trick is a good quick way t' turn a penny and they'll be off wi' ye in a minute. I'll try to stop 'em, but all I gots is me shiv and Hughie. They've got bigger and tougher coves runnin' those gangs. Some are full growed and I couldn't stop 'em. Like Pigger O'Toole and Dirty Henry. Ye want to be with them? That's why I only runs the readin' game ever' few days so's nobody'd notice ye and why I'm always on the outer edge of the crowd keepin' me eye peeled for some cove checkin' ye out. That's why I told Hughie that if anyone ever makes a grab for ye that he's to hold on to ye and run away and hide, not stand and fight like he'd want.''

Scottie stops to see if I'm gettin' this. I am.

''And if a big and nasty gang don't get ye, then one of the printers'd see that you could be of some use to him an without the bother of an apprentice, 'cause no girl's ever an apprentice in the trades, and he'd take ye and use ye for other things when ye got older and then he'd throw ye out. Or his wife would. Is that what you want, Elizabeth?''

I looks down all meek and says, ''No, I don't want that.''

Scottie puts his arm around me shoulders, and I puts me arm around his waist and presses me face against his vest. I likes it when he does that, puttin' his arm around me, I mean, and I get to be close up to him and all.

We go back to the kip.

Dashin' highwaymen and funny drawin's ain't the only things out in front of the printers' shops—there's also the posters for the Newgate hangin's, which I don't find fun at all 'cause Scottie one time told us about the hangin' of Mary Townsend a year or so back and how she was only thirteen and condemned for stealin' bread or somesuch. When she was dropped on the gallows, she wouldn't die because she didn't weigh enough to break her neck when she come to the end if the rope; she just dangled there kickin' and chokin' for the longest time till the merciful hangman took the rope in his hands and jumped down on her thin shoulders with his heavy boots, which snapped her neck and stopped her chokin' and kickin' for good and ever, and I'm so sick when I hears this that I pukes up the nothin' in my belly and I runs off and don't sleep for three nights and I never get the thought of poor Mary Townsend completely out of my mind, ever, and I have a weird awful sense that it's goin' to happen to me someday, too. I don't know why, but I do. It keeps comin' to me in dreams or when me mind wanders, and I dreads it and I shakes when it comes over me.

So when the others go off to work the crowd at Newgate on Mondays, which is the hangin' day—unless it's a holiday like Christmas, in which case the poor wretches are hanged the Saturday before so as not to upset the joy of the day—I won't go with 'em; I stays in the kip. I've seen the awful horrid things hangin' in the cages at the edge of the city, all black and dried out and stinkin' wi' the birds pickin' at 'em.

Along with the posters in front of the printers is advertisements for extra good viewin' windows for rent by the day in the Newgate courtyard, so's the toffs can have a party with their friends and watch the hangin's, and when a young girl is bein' hanged, the price goes up. Ten pounds, sometimes.

I am sick to me heart over such hateful things in the world, and I prays for deliverance.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Muck sits at the table outside the Bell and Boar drinkin' his pint and soppin' his bread in the stew what sits steamin' all glorious in front of his fat gut while we try to coax a penny out of him, but the swine says no, it wouldn't be good business practice to feed us. Ah no. He shakes his head sorrowful, like he can't help the way things are.

''It'd be like starvin' a goose before y' kills it, which is counter t' yer best interests, see? Only it's like backwards with orphans 'cause ye certain don't want t' _feed_ yet orphans— they might not die, and where would we e then?''

''Back to robbin' graves direct, like the rest of the ghouls, I suspects,'' says Scottie, standin' there with his arms folded across his scrawny chest. He fetched a black look from Muck. Scottie looks back at Muck with just as black a look._ Scottie, be careful_, I think to meself. _Muck may be stupid, but he's dangerous too, and remember our motto, Scottie_, Keep Yer Head Down and Yer Backside Covered, _and ye ain't doin' that, Scottie, ye ain't doin' that at all. Yer stickin' ye neck out._

''Shut yer jaw, gallows bait,'' says Muck, lookin' all dark and threatinin' at Scottie, ''or I'll have ye in me barrow before ye thinks maybe it's time.''

''Sod off, Muck,'' says Scottie, and he saunters off down the street to wait for us to finish workin' the crowd. I'm glad Scottie has left, but I wish he hadn't said those things to Muck.

Muck leans back in his chair and wipes his hands on his coat. The table he sits at has been set up in the street outside the tavern's door to catch the cool of the day. He sucks at his teeth to get the morsels out and sighs in the warmth of the day an allows as how he wishes it were winter 'cause the orphans die more regular in winter, mostly from cold and not from disgustin' diseases like in summer, diseases which maybe a poor working man could catch from their corpses when he's tossin' 'em in his barrow. Nay, in the winter, it's one here and one there, and they're easier to keep 'cause of the coolness. Stack 'em up like cordwood, y' can.

"Sure, and in the summer ye might have a fine pestilence which mows 'em down like wheat in a field, but then ye have too many of 'me at once and the surgeons can't use 'me all and they starts to stenchin' and me meself has to haul 'em out to the line puts at me own expense, mind ye, and not even a thank ye for me troubles,'' he says, all wounded.

It was mostly a warmish winter and the spring was warm and dry, mostly, and the summer has been cool and we orphans ain't dyin' at a clip that pleases Muck and his patrons. Loud and long are Muck's complaints and beatin' of breast. We orphans usually aims to please and promises to die real soon if he'd just give us a penny, but it don't work, it never does. Inside us we're happy with the state of our health, and we pictures in our minds the anatomical surgeons sittin' all sad at their empty tables a'tappin' their knives and askin' the merciful heavens for a fresh orphan and not gettin' one today.

Muck goes around mournful-like, liftin' our shifts and countin' our ribs, which is easy to count 'cause they stands right out for the countin', and he asks if we been havin' the rubs an such an looks powerful downcast when we says no.

Polly asks him why the doctors like us orphans better than the grown-up dead people, which they could get all they want from Newgate, and Muck says, ''Why bless yer heart, dear, it's 'cause yer so light and small. The good doctor can flip you over on the table wi' two fingers when he needs t' empty out yer other side, not like a full-growed corpse what weighs maybe fourteen stone. And ye've got the same guts as a grown-up, mostly."

Polly's eyes welled up with tears at the thought of her own dead self bein' parceled out on the table. Polly is our best beggar 'cause she's got these huge blue eyes that brim up and spill over at the slightest thought in her lovely head of the meanness and sadness in the world. And she is lovely, too, under all the dirt, with her pink skin and cherry cheeks and Cupid lips and loose curls makin' a dirty gold frame for her dirty little face. She's wondrous good, too, at the piteous cryin' and when she puts her hands together like she's a little angel prayin' and lets go the waterworks, she gets me and the other girls all in a fine howl an you'd think it'd all melt the heart of a statue and we'd get tons of money, but we don't. Hearts of stone are all we got round here and they're evil cheap, but if any of us can wring a penny out of 'em, it's Polly. I betcha Scottie don't want her stole, neither.

''And another thing,'' says Muck, all like a schoolteacher teachin' the young ones about sweetness and light and dancin' around the maypole and such, ''another thing the doctors like about the orphans aside from their fine compactness is they ain't got no ugly yellow fat to wallow through on their way to the prime organs.''

Muck takes his stick and lifts up Judy's shift. ''Look at that,'' he says fondly. ''Not an ounce of fat, bless her. See, right there's the edge of her liver, just waitin' to be popped out, and this bump here is bound to be her appendimox and...''

Now Judy is cryin' too, and so's Nancy, and I gives up on this street for today and gathers up the girls to head off after Scottie.

''Id despise it if I had to go back to the actual grave robbin','' Muck says gloomily, puttin' on an air like it's beneath him in his present state of Purveyor to the Holy Order of Anatomical Surgeons.

''Its dirty work and I don't like it,'' he allows. Plus he knows he'd get hanged for it if he got caught, which would serve the beast right, and I feels that way even though I hates hangings.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Me immortal soul took a beatin' today as I steals a whole loaf of bread. The beggin's been real bad lately and we ain't eaten in two days and Nancy is poorly, and I seen the bread comin' out of the oven and put on the coolin' board outside the bakery and I loses me mind with the smell of it sittin' there all steamin' and callin' out to me, and I grabs it and runs.

I'm runnin' down the street in mortal terror and there's shouts behind me, but I runs faster and I'm seein' the gallows and the rope and Mary Townsend and the hangman jumpin' on me shoulders till me neck snaps and me gullet is stretched, and I'm blind with fear but I keeps on runnin' till me breath is tearin' holes in me chest and finally I lies down in the gutter with me arms wrapped around the bread and waits for them to come and wrap the noose around me neck and haul me up.

But nobody comes with the noose nor without it, so I gets up and heads back to the kip, me breath comin' in gulps and me immortal soul in tatters.

* * *

The others is already back, as it's gettin' to be dark, and they stare in wonder at the grand loaf, everyone 'cept Scottie, who ain't here. Polly has got a bit of cheese at the beggin' and we're all lookin' forward to a feast, but where's Scottie? We waits but he still don't show.

It's almost pure dark now an Hugh says, "Elizabeth, go out and find 'im. Likely he's down at Lambert's. That's where I saw 'im last."

Out I scrambles, hopin' to find Scottie right off 'cause I know I bought meself some more time in purgatory with the stealin' of that bread and I wants to at least get the pleasure eatin' it as some small payback for me poor damned soul. I ain't worried about the bread bein' eaten while I'm gone, 'cause we have our rules, and I ain't worried about the dark streets 'cause I knows 'em like a rat knows his rat hole, but I am worried about Scottie. He's usually back at the kip to count our heads before dark.

* * *

I cross Earl Street and heads up Water Street and over to Broad, but Scottie ain't and Lambert's and he ain't at The Plow and Stars and he ain't at The Soldier's Joy. I look across the evening sky and there's the dome of Saint Paul's, but I know he ain't off in that direction 'cause that's Bellycut George and his gang's turf and we never, never go there at night, so I heads across the Ludgate to check out Benbow's, but nothin'. I've been lookin' a long time and I'm thinkin' I'll go back to the kip to see if he's come back whilst I was gone, and so I cuts down through Slipburn Alley. It's right dim in there 'cause the buildings come together overhead, and as I'm goin' through I trips over somethin' and sprawls headlong onto the cobbles. There's sticky and gooey stuff all over the cobbles and on me hands and on me knees and on me shift and I don't know what to think, and then I look.

What I tripped over was Scottie, and Scottie's dead.

I lifts up Scottie's head, but the back of it is a bloody mush in me fingers and I know he's gone and the tears well up and I starts makin' high keenin' wails. I hugs him to me and rocks back and forth and say, _Ah, Scottie, Scottie, _over and over. I'm cryin' for poor Scottie dead in me arms, and I puts me face on his and keens some more. _Who done ye, Scottie, ah who done ye and who stopped yer dancin' and jokin' and foolin' for good and ever? Not another street kid, 'cause every street kid knew ye and yer shiv and would have taken it after they did ye, but here it is gleamin' all wicked in me hand. Who then, Scottie?_

I runs me hand up Scottie's chest and opens each button as I go up. When all the buttons are undone, I pulls off Scottie's vest, sobbin' all the while.

_Ah, Scottie, you was a good one, you was. You looked out for us in your way and took care of us in your way and always shared even though you didn't have to and was always happy in spite of all. And takin' your clothes is prolly a sin, too, and I don't mean no disrespect, Scottie, but I got to do it. I got to get away._

I slips Scottie's shirt over his ruined head as gentle as I can and then loosens the cord on his trousers and pulls them off. His legs flop all limp and slide on the stones and I remembers how they used to dance and caper and now they don't do nothin'.

_Goodbye, Scottie._ I close his dead eyes and kiss his dead cheek. _You was my darlin'._

* * *

Leavin' the alley, I sees a horse trough in the gloom and I commences to washin' Scottie's clothes what was dirtied by his dyin'. After I gets most of the blood and dirt off, I takes off me two shifts and rolls 'em up. I puts Scottie's clothes on wet, grateful it's a warm night. I puts the shiv in next to me ribs like Scottie always done and I sticks me old shifts under me arm and gets ready to head off, but then I hears a noise and jumps back quick in a doorway. I peers out and there's Muck wheelin' his barrow toward the alley and toward all what's left of Scottie.

How long will it be 'fore it's me that Muck is comin' after?

* * *

I'm lookin' down through the grate at the shapes below and I counts three, no, four of them huddled down there. Three girls, one boy.

"_Psst!_ Toby!"

The shapes start in alarm. I'm startin' to shiver from the wet clothes, in spite of the warmth of the night. I hisses down through the grating, "It's me, Elizabeth, from Scottie's gang."

Toby gets up and walks toward me, his face striped white and black from the moonlight and shadow of the grate. "What's up, then?"

"Scottie's been done," I says, as even as I can.

"Wot? The Rooster done! It can't be!" wails one of the girls.

"Who done it?" asks Toby.

"Dunno," says I. "Prolly Muck." Then I tells him what happened at the Bell and Boar and in Slipburn Alley.

Toby lets loose a string of low curses and while he's doin' it I says, "I want you to take over our gang, Toby."

I lets that sink in a bit and then plows on. "I don't want 'em picked up by Scroggs or Jimmy Ducks or Dirty Henry or any of those. I takes you for a decent sort, AToby, the sort'll look after 'em a bit. Like Scottie done."

"I ain't nobody's mother." Says Toby. "And I ain't—"

"Our gang lost two today, so there's Judy and Polly and Nancy and Hugh the Grand, with your bunch that makes eight, a good-sized group, and we got a better kip than this. More privatelike, where coves can't piss down on ye like here."

I'm talkin' fast, tryin' to make the deal. "Be right comfy with the bunch of you snugged up in there."

"What about Hugh?"

"He'll follow your lead. He's slow, but he's strong and loyal. You can be the brains and he'll be the brawn. It worked for Scottie."

"You're not goin' back, then."

"No, I got to go. You tell 'em I died with Scottie… no, tell 'em I went to sea and will come back rich and famous. That'll give 'em a laugh. Tell Hughie I hopes he gets to be a hostler. That way he'll know you came from me with my blessin'. They got a loaf of bread and some cheese. They'll share it with you."

"You think it'll still be there?" says Toby all doubtful.

"I know it'll be there 'cause that's the way we done things. So it's done, then?"

"Awright, it's done," says he. Come , me girls, let's go see your new sisters and brother." The girls get up all excited by the happenings and the thought of some bread and cheese. They gathers up their rags.

"And Toby," says I, "don't let Hughie go after Muck. Ye'll have to calm him down 'cause he loved Scottie like we all did. Tell him if Muck is onto makin' his own corpses, it won't be long 'fore Muck does the Newgate Jig his own damned self."

"That's one hangin' I won't miss," says Toby with feelin'.

"Luck, Toby."

"Luck, Elizabeth. Sorry about Scottie."

"Aye."

That's the last time anyone on this earth ever calls me Elizabeth.


	6. Chapter 5

**Scottie – Scotland  
Elizabeth/Arthur - England**

**Chapter 5**

God is a tricky cove, all right, as I didn't mean for Scottie to die so's I could be delivered, but that's what He came up with. I'd like to think of Scottie up in heaven, his red mop shinin' in the celestial light, crackin' up the archangels and such with his japes, and meetin' up with Mum and Dad and Penny and all the others I've known who've died but I don't know. I don't know nothing'.

'Cept now I knows to be careful what I prays for as it may be granted. In the future I'll pray like "God, deliver me from this, if you please, but don't be killin' Scottie in the doin' of it."

But what's done is done.

The first thing I do after I leaves Toby and his bunch is to take out me shiv and hack off me hair, grabbin' handfuls and sawin' away, leavin' it in clumps in the gutter along me way. I cuts it as close to me head as I can get it. I figures I'll follow the Thames down towards the sea as no one knows me face there and and it is a good a place as any to make a new start. I hears that's where the navy ships are and maybe I'll find a way to make meself useful and so get to keep body and soul together for a bit longer.

That night I walks till me clothes dry out and then I kips in a dooryard, cold and hungry and miserable.

_Scottie, why'd y' have to go and mouth off to Muck like that? If you hadn'a done it we'd still be like we was, the Rooster Scottie Gang against the world, but you did it and now yer dead and gone 'cause of it and nothin's ever gonna be like it was. Yer dead, Scottie, and that's it and that's all, but I still can't believe even though I seen you lyin' there all still all quiet all dead._

I wipes me nose and me eyes on me sleeve and curls up into a tighter ball.

_Y'know, Scottie, it's stupid, but I sort of thought that we would get together someday when I got older, like gents and ladies get together, like. At least for a little while we'd walk along, ye all cocky and fine and me beside y' with me arm through yers, even though I know I'll never be a lady. I sort of thought that, I did. But, no. Nothin' now._

In the mornin' it begins to rain and I'm wet again. I walks on and don't scare up no food this day, neither, and I knows that body and soul might start to separate themselves soon if I don't get some right quick. I lie down on a bed of stones in a dark alley when night comes and the cobblestones bite me skin where me bones poke through and I'm thinkin' that I ain't never slept alone before and I don't like it. I misses the feel and smell of the others in our cozy kip when we were in for the night. Yes, and the whisperin' and gigglin' and snugglin' up together. I could go back. I could get along with Toby.

No. I've got to go on. I'll come back someday, I will. _Stop yer cryin'. Stop it now._

* * *

I'm keepin' close to the river on me way to the sea, as I won't get lost that way and I'm used to the river 'cause of our old kip bein' so close to it and all, and it gives me some comfort somehow.

I'm workin' me way down a street on the outskirts of the city, tryin' to escape notice and to look like a simple lad out runnin' an errand for his mum and up to no mischief, Officer, honest I ain't, when a man in front of a tavern calls out to me, "Here, boy, hold me horse," and passes the reins of the beast to me. Me and the horse stands there for a couple of hours, each of us real suspicious of each other, whilst the cove inside eats and drinks his fill, and when he comes out aburpin' and pattin' his gut I puts on a look like I've been real sharp in the performance of me duties and he gives me a penny.

When he gets on the horse and leaves, I heads into the same tavern and for me penny gets a bowl of stew and a bit of bread, which is something wonderful. I licks the bowl clean, tucks the bread in me vest for later, wipes me mouth on me sleeve and heads out.

_It's easier bein' a boy_, I reflects.

* * *

It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause nobody bothers with you. Like, I couldn't have gone into that tavern yesterday as a girl 'cause they would have shouted, "Get out of here, you filthy girl," while they don't say anything when I went in as a filthy boy. My filthy penny was as good as anyone else's.

It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause no one remarks upon me bein' alone. Lots of boys are alone but girls never are. The girls get scooped up into beggin' and stealin' gangs, or workhouses, or worse. True, on my journey south I was eyed by some gentlemen of the street who thought as they would look better n me vest than me, but a flash of me shiv put some coution in 'em and that was that.

It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause when someone needs somethin' done like holdin' a horse, they'll always pick a boy 'cause thy think the dumbest boy will be better at it than the brightest girl, which is stupid, but there you are.

It's easier bein' a boy, 'cause I don't have to look out for no one but me. I'm feelin' a great sense of freedom, like a weight's been lifted from me shoulders, as I'm dartin' me way down to the docks. I'm feelin' a little ashamed for feelin' so light too, what with Scottiedead and me leavin' the others and all, but that's the way it is.

I slips between two loose boards into a stable that's all closed up for the night, and I burrows in the warm and sweet smellin' hay.

I decide my name will be Arthur.


End file.
